


a kiss with a fist (is better than none)

by zeekubeast



Category: Yogscast
Genre: Dubious Consent, Highschool AU, M/M, Sexual Content, Trans Male Character, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 12:23:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeekubeast/pseuds/zeekubeast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can’t begin to count the number of fights you’ve been in with him. He’s had you plenty of times, you hate to admit it, but it’s true.<br/>But this time… this time the tables are turned.</p><p>Teencast AU, featuring FTM!Rythian and Duncan in much closer quarters than they're entirely comfortable with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a kiss with a fist (is better than none)

You can’t begin to count the number of fights you’ve been in with him. You don’t even want to think about the times that a drink too many gave him the jump on you. He’s had you plenty of times, you hate to admit it, but it’s true. You never went down without a struggle, though. His lips are scarred from your kisses, and you’ve given him just as many bruises and black eyes as he has given you.

This time… this time the tables are turned.

You’ve got him pinned by the throat against the ground, his hands shackled together in a pair of cheap (but surprisingly durable) toy handcuffs. He’s completely helpless now, too tipsy and too worn out by the previous scrap. The room is filled with the sound of your heavy breathing; rasping twin engines. You can’t help but grin smugly.

“Who’s laughing now, you bastard,” You growl into his ear, digging your elbow harder into his shoulder. He lets out a light whine of pain. God, you think as a shudder runs through you. You’ve finally got him. You’re finally going to make him pay.

“Well,” he pants against the floorboards, “well done Rythian. Y’ got me.” The thrill of victory is more intoxicating than you thought it would be. He twists underneath you, turning his head to look you in the eye. 

He’s completely shitfaced and beaten into the ground but there’s still something about his gaze that makes you burn. You punch him in the nose and are rewarded with a meaty whud and a muffled yelp. Another shudder of adrenaline courses  through you. Fucking christ, this is satisfying.

When Duncan looks at you again there’s a thin line of blood trickling  into his open mouth. There’s a wetness about his eyes too – you’re not sure if it’s the glaze of the alcohol, or if you’ve actually managed to make him cry out of pain. Before you can even soak that in, he interrupts.

“So.. what’re you gonna do to me?” His voice is very quiet. Your breath catches suddenly in your throat.

“I mean,  y’obviously planned this out,” he continues, his words slurred by the alcohol and the fresh bruising. “So.. what’s gonna happen?”

There’s a silence, where you consider what he’s said. It suddenly hits you, harder than before, that you _have_ finally got him. He’s helpless, completely vulnerable and at your mercy. You stare down at him, all your darkest, angriest dreams come true and you can hardly believe that it’s happened.

The silence must have gone on too long, because Duncan speaks, _again._

“Don’t tell me you didn’t plan what you were gonna fuckin’ do once you actually caught me?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snarl and pull him up by his shitty goatee. “I’m going to get my revenge on you now. You are going to pay for what you’ve done.”

“Yeah, but what _is_ your revenge?” Despite the pain he’s in, the bastard still manages to make snide remarks. You uppercut him, clacking his teeth together like a human nutcracker. It’s incredible how angry he can make you, even when he’s admitted defeat. You pin him on his back and knee him in the stomach, your fist pressed against his throat.

Not so clever now that you’re choking, you think, watching his face turn red as he gasps for air. You dig into his soft sides with your knees, sliding backwards to sit up straight. Except you slide back too far and – oh _fuck._

Duncan lets out a choked laugh which turns into a cough halfway through. You glare at his audacity.

“Sorry,” he wheezes sheepishly.

“You are _so_ messed up,” you hiss, too mortified by the bulge pressing up against your butt to move. He just laughs harder and shakes his head in embarrassment. Gross. “I thought it was bad enough when you got off on the pain of others…!”

Duncan just won’t stop laughing, which is even more infuriating than his usual giggles. You grab a fistful of his hair, shaking with fury. His laughter cuts off into a high-pitched whine and – you swear to god – you feel him twitch underneath you.

“Oh Jesus-” he mutters under his breath. You tug on his hair again and he actually _moans_ this time. “- effing Christ- _Rythian,_ ” He huffs and shifts his hips up against yours. You stare at him, completely dumbstruck.

“So,” he asks you breathlessly, “Is this your revenge? To make me suffer?” The look on his face is something you have never seen before.  There is a hint of desperation in his eyes, face flushed and his hair flopping over a swelling eye, blood smeared over his lips.

“Uh,” you say intelligently. Your mind has gone utterly blank. What- what do you do now? Crap. This is getting out of hand. You shift uncertainly and he lets out another little moan.

He’s so hard by now that you can feel the heat leeching through your clothes. You make the mistake of looking Duncan in the eye. You feel yourself blush furiously, as if you were burning from the inside out.

He chuckles a little then writhes, stretching his bound arms out behind his head and arching his back off the floor. The sudden movement jostles you forwards and you find yourself kneeling over him now, face to face. You teeter for a second, before sitting back down to keep him still. You land right on his dick. Again.

 “Fuck,” he chokes on a whine. He’s desperately grinding his hips against yours. You bite back an embarrassing noise, jutting your hips down in a futile attempt to get him to stop moving. All it does though is get you trapped in a rhythm against him.

 The friction is good, horrendously good. Duncan’s making noises underneath you, his breath scalding your ear as he mewls against your neck. You can’t stand to look at him anymore. You bury your face into his shoulder, twisting your shaking fingers tighter into his hair, gritting your teeth against the moans as you rub together.

You are so, so horribly angry and turned on right now. He bucks up a little too eagerly against you and you pull on his hair, hard, and dear god, the _sound_ he makes.

“Shut- shut up,” you growl, teeth snagging against the collar of his shirt. “Shut _up_..!”

Duncan lets out a breathless “Why don’t you make me?” and you can feel his laughter vibrate through his chest. He’s not even embarrassed about the way he’s humping up against you, his dick straining desperately through the cloth of his jeans. There’s an awful heat between your legs and you can’t stop grinding over his stupid hard-on and it’s his fault and you hate him so much you could die.

You bite him. Your teeth sink in just above his collar bone and you can practically taste his pulse. He cries out in pain and you bite down harder, hard enough to feel the skin break and warm blood pool into your mouth. He tastes like a battery, made of iron and acid. You drink it in, licking over the beading droplets before biting down again. He’s not shut up, but you almost don’t care anymore.

The rhythm of your hips gets jerky and frantic as you bite his neck and pull his hair more and more. Duncan swears and moans and yelps in pain, but he never tells you to stop. You revel in the way his breath hitches when you jerk his head back, the way you can change a muttered curse into a wail by digging your teeth into his shoulder. You let out a small satisfied groan as he fits against you just right.

 Licking  the blood off your lips, you focus on the warm pressure coiling up in your stomach. Everything smells like blood and sweat and a red mist clouds your vision, sharpening your other senses to a razor’s edge.

You feel his breath, rolling out over your neck in rasps between his cries, your body forming a cage over his that he can’t escape, his hips crashing like waves against your cliffs. Your grip never loosens. 

A slight shift in angle as you lean down to bite his neck again sends a brilliant shiver of sensation shooting up your spine. You don’t even try to stifle the sound you make, pushing down on his clothed cock and rutting against him, hard. It’s so hot, it’s so, so _good._ You dig your nails into his shoulders, anchoring yourself against the beautiful friction. Both of you pant in tandem, lost in the moment.

Duncan’s struggling to say words, but he manages to stutter a breathy “Shi- shit I’m- I’m close!”  His words snap you out of the trance.

 You go flying backwards, scrambling to get off, to get away from him. Oh god, oh god oh god.

This was not supposed to happen, this is the opposite of what was supposed to happen. Oh god, oh shit. Your boxers are horribly sticky and you’re still turned on and your mouth is covered in blood and this is _so wrong_.

Duncan practically yowls in protest, squirming on the floor, denied of release. He pants and tries to break free of the plastic cuffs, but to no use. You sit back against the wall breathing heavily, looking on in horror.

“No- Rythian! C’mon!” He yells, voice cracking in frustration. You stare at him. You’re paralyzed.

“C’mon, c’mon – _Please!_ ”

You don’t respond.

“Rythian- ugh - Rythian, please!” He cranes his head to look at you desperately. You can’t meet his gaze. “At least- at least finish this. Please?”

When you dreamed of seeing Duncan laid out in front of you begging, you were imagining something entirely different. The blood and bruising aren’t too far off actually, a tiny twisted part of yourself comments – no!

No, this is not what you wanted to happen, this is sick and twisted and wrong and terrible and and and…

And it’s something that Duncan would have done to you, that little voice says.

You look up at him again. He looks back at you, still bloody and flushed and panting helplessly on the floor. A little choked moan bubbles out of his throat and it chills and burns you all in one go.  You stare at your hands. The knuckles are split and caked in blood, both yours and his, but which is whose you can’t tell. It’s all mixed up now, on your hands and in your head.

“Rythian…?” His voice sounds so softly serious and far away. “C’mon…”

You bite your lip and taste his blood. Your body is still thrumming with the adrenaline, antsy and aching for contact. A pulse runs through you, red hot. You want this. You try to tell yourself that your hormones are going crazy and messing with your head, but you _want_ _this_ , you want to get off so fucking badly that you might just explode.

It’s not so fucked up if you _both_ want it, you think.

Hesitantly, you pad over to him again on your hands and knees.  He turns towards your touch, stilling as your fingers brush over the inside of his thigh. Your eyes meet. He asks you with a silent gaze. Shivering, you nod. No turning back now.

He shifts suddenly. Grabbing your arm with his cuffed hands, Duncan pulls himself up off the floor.

 Panic rises in you like bile. He’s tricked you! You recoil, expecting pain, expecting humiliation and treachery and another miserable defeat at his hands.

 You don’t expect the soft press of his swollen lips against yours.

He’s kissing you, you realize.

A kiss, a proper kiss, not the violent nipping that you’re so accustomed to. He breathes you in, eyes closed, locked hands trembling against your chest. His mouth is warm and wet and softer than you could ever imagine. He doesn’t try to hurt you. He doesn’t even try to gain control. He just kisses you.

This, this kiss, is probably the strangest thing he’s ever done.

You bite back, out of habit. He groans softly and leans into you, not even trying to put up a fight. It scares you, for some reason. It’s not like him, at all. You bite harder, pulling his lip between your teeth and scratching your hands over his skull and down his shoulders. He gives in completely, only moving to chase your lips when you break away.

“I hate you,” you hiss into his mouth. “I _hate_ you.”

“I know,” he mumbles drunkenly. He whines softly as you scratch over the bite marks on his shoulder, trembling. He tilts his head back, exposing his neck and tugs at your shirt to bring you closer.

You’ve never seen him like this before. When you don’t move, he leans in to kiss you again, still as soft and pleading as before. You push him away, and he makes a face like a kicked puppy.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” You ask.

He laughs, and you can smell the alcohol still lingering on his breath. “I- I dunno,” He giggles, and it almost sounds like a sob. “Did you put a hypno in my cup?”

“No.” As if you would stoop that low.

“Oh. Haha, um. Well, shit.”

“Yeah,” you say. Unbelievable.

“Ehehe, I guess I’m a bit more fucked up than I thought,” Duncan presses his forehead against your shoulder and giggles against your skin, then sighs.

“I’m... I’m still hard,” He says it like a child admitting to a prank.

You groan through gritted teeth. You’ve calmed down a little, but you’re still blazing on the inside. He kisses your neck. You let out a sigh of exasperation and knead your fingers over his bitten shoulder testily. Duncan mewls against your pulse and _ugh_ , the noise sends a shudder of arousal right through you.

“Can I, um, get my pants off?” He murmurs into your neck. “It kinda hurts…”

You grumble and back off to let him undo his zip. There’s a sigh of relief as the zip gives way and he shuffles around on his ass trying to get them off, but giving up halfway down his thighs.

 You take a quick glance down and almost wince. It’s practically red, he’s so hard. You hide your face against his neck. It’s embarrassing enough knowing that _you_ are at fault for this, he doesn’t need to see how it’s affected you too. You give him a nip, just in case.

Duncan chuckles breathlessly and awkwardly strokes his shaft with both hands. He groans and presses a kiss against your neck. You mirror him, mouthing over his pulse, unconciously rocking your hips in time to his strokes. On the down-stroke he presses his knuckles against your crotch and – you can’t hold it back – you moan into his neck and fist both your hands into his hair.

He presses again. Jesus _fuck_. He runs his knuckles over the seam in your pants. You feel each bone rub past like a shock, heat pulsing through your body, flashing red behind your eyes. Only the scraps left of your willpower stop you from humping yourself silly on his hands.

You gag yourself with a mouthful of his shirt as he rubs you through your clothes again. Your hips jerk forward and – _christ._ There’s not a chance in hell that your boxers are going to survive this.

 “Get off,” Duncan suddenly mutters into your ear. “I wanna try something.”

“What-“

He pushes your belly with his hands, dislodging you all too easily. You protest the loss of contact as you fall out of his lap unceremoniously. Your head hits the wall with a thump.

“Fuck!” you yelp. Duncan mumbles what feels like an apology against your sternum. Shaking the sparks from your eyes, you look down to see him hunched over you. He slides down onto his elbows and knees, awkwardly pecking kisses at your belly before flopping down to rest his head on the inside of your thigh.

He glances up at you with his blacked eye, as if asking for permission. You stare back in confusion. Lowering his gaze, he nuzzles into your crotch, like an overly friendly dog, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of how slick you are. Duncan mouths at you through your jeans.

Despite the thick denim, you can feel his breath soak into your skin, warm and damp. A shiver travels up your spine. But just as quickly as it started, it stops.

“What?” You whine in disappointment. You’re going to rip your own head off if you don’t come soon.  You glare at him.

 “This’d probably work better without pants,” Duncan says, leaning back on his heels.

Oh, right. You’re still wearing those. You huff and grumble to yourself as you shuck your jeans down to your ankle and pull out your left foot. It’s good enough.

 “The boxers stay on, though.” You say. You mean it. Duncan looks at you, his face politely blank. “I’m serious.”

“Okay,” he replies, rolling his eyes. He lies down, leaning on one side to hook your leg over his shoulder. You let yourself slide down the wall slightly until you can feel his breath leach through the opening. The tension is thick enough to choke you.

He breathes over you, lips ghosting against the thin cotton barrier, then presses a tender kiss your clit. You inhale sharply. The kiss turns into a lick and your hips twitch forward. His mouth is so warm, you can feel his lips and tongue exploring you through your pants, which probably leave a lot less to the imagination than you’d hoped. He finds your clit again and sucks it into his mouth and nothing matters anymore.

You brace yourself against the wall, hands at his shoulders in an attempt to keep your legs from twitching out of control, but it only sort of works. Duncan buries his face into your canting hips, licking and sucking valiantly in spite of your twitching.

You grit your teeth and close your eyes, overwhelmed by the waves of pleasure boiling under your skin. Between his tongue and your own anatomy, your boxers are thoroughly soaked and the fabric catches at your skin in a way that makes you want to scream.

You bite back your voice as best you can, but muffled moans and mewls still slip their way past your lips. The pressure inside you builds, warmth flushing over your cheeks and spilling through your veins like liquid fire.  He – he really seems to know what he’s doing – or maybe you’re just far too sensitive from the whole ordeal.

 His teeth graze over you, pain and pleasure forming a dizzying cocktail. You’re kind of glad and also kind of regretting keeping your boxers on, because you’re not sure you’d be able to last this long otherwise.

The pressure is getting unbearable now. Everything is hazy and tingling and you are so, so close to coming. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, drowning out the sound of your own breathing. You’re _so close._ You whisper a string of expletives and prayers, half delirious.

 Duncan shuffles back to breath and breaks the flow. No! How dare he!  You grab a fistful of his hair, jerking his head forwards. He moans against you and- Oh god. You teeter on the brink, dizzy and burning and drunk with pleasure. It only takes a nip and you’re sent over the edge. Waves of heat wash over you and the world dissolves into fragments of sensation and sound for a beautiful moment.

“Wow,” Duncan mumbles into your shoulder. You didn’t notice him move. “Never heard you make that sound before.”

You feel too warm and fuzzy to get angry. “Shut up,” you mutter, pulling him by the hair into a rough kiss. He whines into it, pressing himself flush against your chest. A poke in the belly reminds you that he’s still hard as hell. Your bones feel like they’ve been replaced with bubblegum though and you don’t really feel like doing much of anything.

 But when you try to break the kiss Duncan half-sobs and clutches your shirt. He kisses you open-mouthed and desperate, weakly rutting against your belly.  Sighing with exasperation, you kiss him back. You suppose you can’t really leave him like that.

Clumsily reaching down, you grab hold of his shaft. His hips jerk forward needily into your touch, a low whine bubbling out of his throat. You loosely stroke over him once. It’s all the encouragement he needs to start humping your hand. His face is bright pink under the dried blood and bruising, his lips split and scabbed and red as anything.

You kiss him, then trail down to lick at the wounds on his shoulder. His voice pitches and cracks over half-formed curses and a million iterations of your name. He says your name like a prayer, like salvation. It makes your ears ring and something burning and vicious curls its way around your heart.

You bite him, slowly and deliberately sinking your teeth into the tender skin at the base of his throat. It’s almost tender, almost romantic in its violence. You still hate him, you tell yourself.

You hate him and yet, in amongst the hatred and the anger there is something soft that draws you to him. Something that won’t let you leave him alone. You hate that, most of all. You grip his cock violently, jerking him off out of spite. Duncan stutters, groans your name, and comes, hot and sticky on your hand. Then he collapses against you.

Trying not to smear jizz all over your shirt, you squeeze your arm out from between your bodies. Duncan nuzzles into your shoulder, slowly recovering his breath. On an impulse you wipe the stickiness off in the back of his hair. He pulls a face like he’s stepped in a piece of dog shit, and it’s your turn to laugh.

“Great,” He mutters. “Now I’m covered in blood and cum.”

“It’s mostly your own, too,” you remark with a smirk. 

Duncan scoots out of your lap and leans against the wall next to you. He jostles your shoulder slightly, tucking himself back into his pants. You decide to pull your own ones up – your ass is freezing.

 “So,” he says, mopping his face awkwardly with the back of his arm. “Your revenge plan actually turned out to be quite devious. Well done. I’m proud.” He sounds almost sentimental about it. You scoff.

“I’m not done with my revenge just yet.”

“Ahuh?”  He settles his chin against your shoulder, looking up at you from the corner of his eye, and sighs. “Well, I’m still going to have to get you back for this round,” He replies conversationally, as if your rivalry is some elaborate game that you play in your spare time. It’s ridiculous that he doesn’t seem to take it as seriously as you do. His face is literally bleeding and beaten, and he's acting like it's just a mild inconvenience. Unbelievable.

“I hate you,” you murmur against his forehead. 

“I hate you too,” he replies, yawning into your neck. You force back a yawn of your own. It’s some ungodly hour in the night, and there’s nobody around anyway. You might as well rest for a little while. The floor is cold but his body is more than warm enough pressed against yours. Duncan's head droops and he relaxes against yours. Within minutes, you can hear the light snore of blocked-nose sleeping.

You really should get up and go home but... It's warm and comfortable, and you are very, very worn out. A quick nap couldn't hurt. Duncan's hands are still tied, so what the worst he could do, really? Resting your heavy head in his hair, you decide that after you've had a rest you can get going home. By that time it'll probably be late enough to catch a bus.

You'll leave him the key to the cuffs on the other side of the room before he wakes up. And you’ll tie his shoelaces together for good measure. A little smile of mischief plays over your lips.

The two of you doze off, ceasefire held under the reign of slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who helped me keep going with this monster for the whole week. Special thanks to Jo for doing the beta-ing and Becca for inspiring me with soggy teens to write angry gay teens. And thank you, for reading.  
> I will return to writing OMaM in the next few days.


End file.
